The High-Wizard's Hunt

Chapter 10

____________

Romancing the Warden

Osric paced his room in the underforge, unable to sleep. Two weeks of dreams had taken a toll on his body. His mind raced with the day’s events. Osric explained what he had seen in the vision Kenneth had shown him, and the words of the prophecy he had heard, but none of them knew what to make of it. The vision was pretty clear, and Osric dreaded the events that could possibly lead up to such a situation coming to fruition. The prophecy, on the other hand, was frustratingly vague. Gus had puzzled over its meaning for a long time, probing Osric with questions about anything he may have left out or forgotten. Yet, they had no greater understanding of what it could refer to than when he first traveled into the grove. It was just one more mystery to add to the ever growing list that plagued Osric night and day.

Luckily, the Vigiles were fine in Stanton. Osric had contacted Toby shortly after he talked to Machai. They were all without work, but they were attending to the people of Stanton outside the palace rubble. Several of them were starting to resume their normal lives, and Macgowan had even aided in the hunt for more food. The poor man still did not speak much, but Toby was impressed with his work in helping the others.

Osric continued to pace as his thoughts raced. Too many things had happened since his waking for his mind to settle in one place. The unicorns would not see him and had the Maidens keeping him away. There was a plot in the Turgent’s government, and they had no idea who was behind it. His wand and sword had been remade, and they looked like the property of the Turgent himself.

What troubled his mind more than anything else was Bridgett and everything that had occurred between them. He was at a loss for words and did not know what to do about it. He wanted nothing more than to see her smile, and he found that he could not dwell on anything else. His brow creased with his attempt to wear down the stone floor in his room. Seeking less confinement, he took to the halls of the Underforge for comfort.

The echo of his footsteps helped to calm him as he traced the elaborate interior. He found himself close to the corridor that Kenneth slept in and considered stopping by for his thoughts on Bridgett’s actions. He raised his hand to knock, and paused. Jane’s playful laughter pierced the silence, denying him the company of his best friend. Happiness was not an easy luxury to find with the situations they had each been subjected to over the previous weeks, so he was relieved that it came for Kenneth so quickly.

He resumed his journey through the halls and then picked up his pace. He rounded a few corners rashly before stopping at the door that had caused his sleeplessness and knocked. The door opened and Bridgett peered out in a night shift. Her hair was freshly brushed and she looked wide awake.

“I told you to come back for your sword in the morning.” She grimaced and slowly began to shut the door.

“I didn’t come for my sword. We need to talk.” Osric placed his bare foot in the door to keep it open.

She looked down and then slowly raised her head. “Remove your foot, or you will be staying a lot longer than the night.”

“You’re not going to hurt me.” Osric closed his eyes. “Can we talk, please?”

Bridgett stared at him for a moment and then relinquished her hold on the door, letting it swing open. Osric stepped in carefully, examining the room. Pebble lay snoring on the foot of the bed, and the blankets had not been pulled back to allow her entrance. His sword sat on top of a desk, along with an ewer of water and a book. No decorations or color of any kind were visible in the sparsely furnished chamber.

“Well?”

“I’m sorry, I just—” Osric stumbled over his words again, growing frustrated with himself. “This isn’t what I expected to see in your room.”

“You came here in the middle of the night to discuss my lodgings?” She pushed him back toward the door. “I am sorry, but I am tired.”

“Wait.” Osric’s protest was received, and she let him stay, looking impatient. Osric took a deep breath.

“He’s a silly unicorn,” Pebble snorted and began to snore again.

Osric smiled, looking back at the bed. “He’s a good pup.” He nodded in Pebble’s direction and then looked back into her eyes.

“He is smart, too.” Bridgett put her hands on her hips and Osric could feel daggers drilling into him from her stony gaze. “You men do not give him enough credit. He has been making wands since we arrived. He will not tell anyone what he is doing, but I have seen him gathering sticks in the woods. The unicorns are very curious about him. I can sense that much. They see his potential, and many of them follow him around when he is making them.” She looked back at Pebble, remaining rigid where she stood.

Osric felt an unfamiliar sensation. It was as though, as she gazed at Pebble and he at her, he could feel himself pulled in a direction that he knew was right, a direction that he must take. It seemed much of the potential of his life was captured in that moment. His body moved of its own accord. Not controlling him, but guided by him and at the same time out of his control, as though he were watching himself from outside his own body.

Osric stepped close to her. As she turned, he leaned in and took Bridgett in his arms. Their lips met as he returned to himself and his Portentist gift surged with power. The importance of the moment reverberated within him as he held her. Suppressed hunger roared with a vehemence he had never felt before. He took in her scent, subtle like distant lilacs carried on a spring wind. He noticed the feel of her lips, soft and warm, with a hint of denial. He relished her embrace and how she fit perfectly, molded against his chest as he wrapped his arms tighter around her. Moments faded into days, and years transpired in mere breaths, and yet only the briefest of moments passed by them. Slowly, they fought to pull themselves away from what they both felt, what they desired. Osric trailed his fingers down her arms as he backed away, unable to look up from her stunning, blue eyes.

Bridgett stood in front of him with watery eyes, her lower lip trembling in the silence between them. Osric could not speak. It was not what he had planned, and his gift had prompted it. Did it? Or was it me? But the Portentist gift had activated, he knew that much. He looked at Bridgett, just as she drew back her fist and punched him in the mouth.

Osric stepped back, alarmed. He stuck his finger in his mouth, feeling at his teeth to assess the damage. Bridgett followed him as he backed up. She grabbed him by the arm and shoved him out into the hall.

“How dare you,” she whispered through clenched teeth. “Do you think because you cannot sleep, I shall keep you company through the night?”

“No, I just came to talk.” Osric was stunned by her passionate anger.

“Oh, you call that talking?” She glared at him as a single tear rolled down her cheek. “You have every intention of leaving here tomorrow to go off on some mission to save us all and you would lose your focus by being distracted with this? I will not allow you to put yourself at greater risk for the comfort of one night.”

“No, I just wanted to talk. I never meant to imply that I—” Osric was cut off by her retort.

“Distractions will not serve you well. Nor will my heart be served by the knowledge that you are at even greater risk for my affections.”

“Bridgett.” She calmed a bit hearing him call out her name, but anger remained vigilant in her eyes. “I don’t know what happened in there.” He reached down and grabbed her hand in both of his. They stood in her doorway, eyes locked on each other, but her stubborn expression did not soften as he searched for words.

“You go,” she spoke softly, yet sternly. “Go and find out who is responsible for initiating this war.” She turned and opened the door to her room, hesitating before closing it. “Then, you may kiss me. Not before.”

The door clicked shut and Osric leaned against the frame. He could hear her breathing on the other side.

“I wish things were different,” Osric whispered as he ran his hand down the rough wood of her door.

“Me too.”